Damian was bleeding again.
He'd made it a whole six hours before the rough stitching in his side tore open and soaked his shirt anew. The healing salve the knight had used earlier—Chris, wasn't it?—had dulled the pain, but not enough to ignore the deep ache in his ribs or the sluggish burn in his muscles.
Still, he'd gotten what he needed.
Boots. Supplies. And best of all?
The knight's stunned yell echoing through the forest behind him had been delightful.
"Beautiful bastard," Damian murmured with a smirk. "I'll take that as a compliment."
He barely had time to savor it.
A sharp whistle cut through the trees.
Damian froze, already ducking into the underbrush. He pressed low to the ground, slowing his breathing, senses flaring. The forest was no longer silent. He heard it now—the telltale jingle of armor. Two sets. Maybe three. Moving fast.
He gritted his teeth.
Bounty hunters.
They'd found him again.
Somewhere else in the forest…
Chris stomped through the woods, muttering curses under his breath and barefoot.
"Knight-in-training my ass. Just got robbed by a walking goth cliché."
He'd spent the last hour retracing his steps, hoping for signs of the slippery thief, but Damian had vanished into the trees like a shadow. His pride was bruised. His feet were cold. And every branch seemed determined to smack him in the face.
Then he heard it — steel clashing. Fast. Sharp.
Chris paused.
His instincts screamed at him to walk away. He was technically outside his patrol range. He was unarmed. And he had no boots.
But that sound — the clash of blades and crackle of magic — tugged at something deep inside him. Something noble. Stupid, but noble.
"…I swear, if it's him again…"
He moved toward the noise.
Meanwhile…
Damian twisted, just narrowly avoiding a dagger aimed at his throat. He shoved his attacker back with a burst of shadow magic, causing the man to stumble. Another figure lunged from the side — this one with a spiked flail.
Damian didn't have time to dodge fully.
Pain bloomed across his shoulder as the flail clipped him, ripping through his already tattered cloak. He let out a breathless snarl and summoned a whip of darkness from his hand, slashing it across the attacker's face.
The man screamed and dropped to the ground.
"Damian Kaelthorn!" shouted the last bounty hunter, circling him like a wolf. "You're worth a hundred gold alive. Twice as much dead. Make this easy on us!"
Damian smirked through bloodied lips. "Tempting. But I have trust issues."
He was fading, though. His magic flickered like a dying candle. He could feel the strain pulling at him, tugging him toward unconsciousness. He didn't have many spells left in him.
Then—
"HEY!"
All three men turned.
Chris burst through the trees, shirt half-ripped, barefoot, holding a broken tree branch like a sword. His hair was wild. His expression? Furious.
"Oh no," Damian whispered.
"Oh YES," Chris shouted. "Guess who's BACK, you thieving bastard!"
The bounty hunters looked confused. One snorted. "Who the hell is this clown?"
"I'm the knight whose stuff your friend stole," Chris barked, charging forward. "And you're all getting your asses kicked on principle!"
He swung the branch with surprising force, clocking one hunter right in the face. The man crumpled instantly.
Damian blinked. "Did he just—?"
Chris ducked a knife, jabbed the stick into someone's gut, then kicked him backward into a tree.
"I'm barefoot and still better than you!" he yelled.
The final hunter — the one with the flail — raised his weapon again, only for Damian to finally regain enough focus to wrap shadows around his legs and yank him to the ground.
Silence followed.
Chris stood in the middle of the clearing, panting, shirt torn, stick in hand.
Damian stared at him. "You came back."
Chris jabbed the stick at him. "You stole my boots!"
Damian tilted his head. "And yet… you saved me."
Chris growled. "I was planning to punch you, but then they showed up. So now I get to punch you later."
Damian tried to stand, wobbled, and nearly fell. Chris sighed and caught him before he hit the ground.
"Gods, you're heavier than you look."
"Muscle," Damian mumbled.
Chris rolled his eyes. "Sure. That must be it."
A few hours later…
They found shelter in a shallow cave just off the main path. Chris had scrounged up a flask of clean water and was heating some root stew over a weak flame.
Damian leaned against the cave wall, his eyes half-lidded. "You're a terrible cook."
"I'm not a cook. I'm a knight." Chris stirred the stew violently. "Besides, maybe if you hadn't robbed me blind, we'd be eating something better."
"I gave you your sword back."
"Yeah. After I saved your life."
Damian shrugged. "Fair's fair."
Chris muttered something impolite under his breath.
They sat in awkward silence for a while, broken only by the bubbling of the stew. Then, finally, Damian spoke.
"I need to get to Braithe Hollow. In Aetheris."
Chris glanced up. "That's deep rogue territory. Why?"
"I can't travel alone anymore," Damian said, ignoring the question. "Too many eyes. Too many bounties."
"And you want me to help you?"
Damian raised a brow. "You're already a traitor now, you know. A knight consorting with an Umbraxis fugitive? You'll be wanted too. Might as well get something out of it."
Chris squinted. "Is this your idea of a proposal?"
"Think of it as a mutually beneficial inconvenience."
Chris groaned. "Gods above, I'm going to regret this."
He stuck out his hand.
Damian looked at it like it might explode. "What are you doing?"
"Shake. It's a deal. Temporary truce. Travel partners — until Braithe Hollow."
Damian hesitated, then took the hand. His grip was cold, but steady.
"Under one condition," Chris added, grinning. "You give me my boots back."
"No."
"You—!"